FIC: That Certain Feeling (Kat/Elliott, NC-17)
Author: Clio
Title: That Certain Feeling
Pairing: American Idol: Katharine McPhee/Elliott Yamin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hirsuite suits her. In men, that is.
Length: 700 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Title from the Gershwin song. Fulfills the "nuzzling" square on my schmoop_bingo card. Beta'd by the always-awesome lillijulianne. If you want to see how they got together, please see Different for Girls.
So Katharine has a thing for facial hair-or more specifically, her man Elliott’s facial hair. Or more generally, her man Elliott’s every hair, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. She likes his chest hair soft and scratchy against her nipples, likes wrapping the curls on his head around her fingertips, likes humping shamelessly against his thigh, feeling his hair rubbing against her cunt. But the beard he uses on purpose to make her crazy, sometimes to the point where all she has to do is look at his face and she can feel herself getting hotter. It’s ridiculous.
Whenever she’s, say, pulling together a little something in the kitchen, or noodling around on the piano, he’ll come up behind her and nuzzle into her neck or lean his chin on her shoulder. She can’t not turn in his arms and kiss him, and she wonders if that makes her easy or if he just has her number.
When they’re on the couch making out he often throws in some gratuitous chin and cheek rubbing too. She knows that it isn’t accidental, that he knows it’s a sure way to get her from necking to shamelessly spreading her legs. Then the clothes will start to come off, maybe a pause to move the action into the bedroom, and he slides a little lower, nudging under her breast with his nose because he says he likes the way she smells there. But what she feels is his beard against her stomach and his hair stroking across her nipples. They’re stiff by the time he takes one into his mouth and now his beard brushes the soft skin of her breast. She ruts up against him, eager and restless, needing him to get on with it.
Sometimes, at this point, he keeps moving down and anchors her hips with his hands as he dives between her legs. She slides her fingers into his hair, urging him on and trying not to buck up into him, not always successfully. She keeps herself pretty well trimmed, what with the paps on the beach and all, so she can feel every whisker sliding against her skin. When she comes she isn’t sure if it’s from his talented tongue or the feel of his beard on her inner thighs and outer lips; probably a bit of both. Then it’s her turn to dive between his legs, to brace his hips with her hands. It’s all turned around-hairy thighs against soft cheeks, his skin thrusting against her tongue, his fingers in her hair. He’s better at not thrusting than she is, but she laps up his come as eagerly as he does hers. The kisses after that are earthy and salty as they lick the come off each other’s cheeks.
Other times he goes slack, letting her take charge, and she rolls them over so that she can rub against him, slide the whole length of her body along his. Just the feel of all that hard, lithe, fur-covered muscle gets her hotter still. This often leads to frottage, legs overlapping, thighs grinding against his cock and her pussy, open-mouthed kisses becoming sloppier and more frantic until they come, bucking up against each other.
And then yes, sometimes they fuck, rolling around to see who will be on top, her clutching his strong shoulders and his arms around her waist. The coarse curls at the base of his cock scratch against her sensitive skin, just this side of uncomfortable, and depending on how crazy he’s made her before he enters her (usually, a lot), she can come just from the fucking and that little bit of irritation.
Whatever they’ve done and wherever they’ve ended up-bed, couch, dining room chair, kitchen table, hallway floor-afterward he pulls her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin, and as their breathing slows she nuzzles into his neck, soft, loving, home.
Title: That Certain Feeling
Pairing: American Idol: Katharine McPhee/Elliott Yamin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hirsuite suits her. In men, that is.
Length: 700 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Title from the Gershwin song. Fulfills the "nuzzling" square on my schmoop_bingo card. Beta'd by the always-awesome lillijulianne. If you want to see how they got together, please see Different for Girls.
So Katharine has a thing for facial hair-or more specifically, her man Elliott’s facial hair. Or more generally, her man Elliott’s every hair, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. She likes his chest hair soft and scratchy against her nipples, likes wrapping the curls on his head around her fingertips, likes humping shamelessly against his thigh, feeling his hair rubbing against her cunt. But the beard he uses on purpose to make her crazy, sometimes to the point where all she has to do is look at his face and she can feel herself getting hotter. It’s ridiculous.
Whenever she’s, say, pulling together a little something in the kitchen, or noodling around on the piano, he’ll come up behind her and nuzzle into her neck or lean his chin on her shoulder. She can’t not turn in his arms and kiss him, and she wonders if that makes her easy or if he just has her number.
When they’re on the couch making out he often throws in some gratuitous chin and cheek rubbing too. She knows that it isn’t accidental, that he knows it’s a sure way to get her from necking to shamelessly spreading her legs. Then the clothes will start to come off, maybe a pause to move the action into the bedroom, and he slides a little lower, nudging under her breast with his nose because he says he likes the way she smells there. But what she feels is his beard against her stomach and his hair stroking across her nipples. They’re stiff by the time he takes one into his mouth and now his beard brushes the soft skin of her breast. She ruts up against him, eager and restless, needing him to get on with it.
Sometimes, at this point, he keeps moving down and anchors her hips with his hands as he dives between her legs. She slides her fingers into his hair, urging him on and trying not to buck up into him, not always successfully. She keeps herself pretty well trimmed, what with the paps on the beach and all, so she can feel every whisker sliding against her skin. When she comes she isn’t sure if it’s from his talented tongue or the feel of his beard on her inner thighs and outer lips; probably a bit of both. Then it’s her turn to dive between his legs, to brace his hips with her hands. It’s all turned around-hairy thighs against soft cheeks, his skin thrusting against her tongue, his fingers in her hair. He’s better at not thrusting than she is, but she laps up his come as eagerly as he does hers. The kisses after that are earthy and salty as they lick the come off each other’s cheeks.
Other times he goes slack, letting her take charge, and she rolls them over so that she can rub against him, slide the whole length of her body along his. Just the feel of all that hard, lithe, fur-covered muscle gets her hotter still. This often leads to frottage, legs overlapping, thighs grinding against his cock and her pussy, open-mouthed kisses becoming sloppier and more frantic until they come, bucking up against each other.
And then yes, sometimes they fuck, rolling around to see who will be on top, her clutching his strong shoulders and his arms around her waist. The coarse curls at the base of his cock scratch against her sensitive skin, just this side of uncomfortable, and depending on how crazy he’s made her before he enters her (usually, a lot), she can come just from the fucking and that little bit of irritation.
Whatever they’ve done and wherever they’ve ended up-bed, couch, dining room chair, kitchen table, hallway floor-afterward he pulls her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin, and as their breathing slows she nuzzles into his neck, soft, loving, home.